


Blank Slate (I'll Write Your Name)

by Kawaiibooker



Series: V one-shot [11]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Pequod is and remains the best wingman for all your wingman needs, all the fun tags for poor V
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:10:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: "The instant silence comes to claim him, Quiet knows what to do. This time, she won't let go."A mission goes wrong. Quiet is sent to fix it.





	Blank Slate (I'll Write Your Name)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GRAYXOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GRAYXOF/gifts).



> Beta-read by [polyphaga](http://archiveofourown.org/users/polyphaga/pseuds/polyphaga), [hayyie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hayyie), [candeloro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/candeloro) and [GRAYXOF](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GRAYXOF/pseuds/GRAYXOF).
> 
> This is my 30th MGS fic c: I'm especially proud of it, so please enjoy.

Adapting to her new body means pain, means time spent in limbo, means letting go of her old life. Days, weeks, months, lost to nothingness like the need to breathe, to eat, to sleep. Words fail her. All that remains is the faint taste of smoke on her tongue and a target burned into her mind.

Silence is her constant companion. It's the burden she can't shake no matter how tempting it is, in those rare moments when she is met with genuine kindness and respect instead of hostile glares and barbwire insults. She stills her deadly words, humming to herself when the weight of soundlessness becomes too much. One day, a second voice joins hers, rumbling where hers is smooth. They share the melody, the one that's been stuck in her head ever since she woke up with only one goal in mind. Suddenly, the person she was sent to kill becomes the one person she would die for.

The instant silence comes to claim him, Quiet knows what to do. This time, she won't let go.

*

She's not supposed to be here. Quiet decides she couldn't care less, swinging her leg back and forth over the seventy foot drop, leaning against the solid metal beam at her back. Below, the Intel Platform hums with activity, its members always busy like ants in a hive – too wrapped up in radio connections and flickering screens to notice their silent observer. Seeing the inner workings of a machinery as complex as Diamond Dogs, it seems unreal that on the other side of the continent, there's only one man bringing their efforts to the desired result.

Alone. Unease curls in her gut but she suppresses it firmly. The mission was designated a solo OP for a reason: One misstep and the delicate trust their informant managed to build within the targeted PMC will be gone and the agent's life with it. Getting her out is their top priority – a task only the best of the best are up to and if anyone knows Snake can pull it off, it's Quiet. She's seen him in action often enough.

Yet she's tense enough that she couldn't stay in her cell even if it could hold her, pointless as the metal bars are when she can simply phase through them. Watching the almost maddening come and go – an endless stream of information, files, tapes, calls – gives her the illusion of usefulness, a flimsy grasp on what's going on.

The Intel team works in shifts, a fresh set of hands replacing the ones trembling with exhaustion. A few constant fixtures remain: Snake, of course, all those miles away infiltrating the enemy base with precision, like a deadly virus infecting their systems slowly but surely; Quiet, eyes locked on the video feed which shows a series of dark vents, sewers, corridors, her earpiece jacked into the comms that transmit whisper-soft steps and even breathing; and the Commanders on radio support, the heart of the operation.

It's through them that the Intel team finds its focus, the final filter between Mother Base and Big Boss. Currently it's Miller manning the radio, relaying the newest info Ocelot handed him a few minutes ago before he went to take a break, stretch his legs.

Miller's in his element, that much is clear from his attentive posture and the light banter he maintains with Snake, full of references only they understand. Quiet doesn't know how exactly their partnership came to be nor does she care to find out – the important thing is that Diamond Dogs _works_ because of it, both men in synch despite the distance. Trust is what makes the difference between life and death. It's because of this that Snake and Miller have survived. Others have not.

A muffled curse in her ear interrupts Quiet's thoughts; she snaps upright, refocusing on the large screen displaying Snake's progress. The sounds of struggling, strained grunts–

The feed flickers to static.

All hell breaks loose.

*

Quiet appears at the landing zone like a ghost, noticeable only by the slightest shift of air. The chopper is already there – as is Pequod, leaning against his Blackfoot with his arms crossed, waiting. He's the only one who notices her presence. She returns his grim nod.

“This is not a drill. I want you and your five best in this chopper and I want them  _now_!” Miller orders, barely awaiting the salute and “Yes, sir!” from Flaming Buffalo before he waves her away. “Make it fast. You've got ten minutes!”

He's been barking orders ever since they lost Snake, voice firm, expression a stony mask behind the ever-present aviators: Gathering resources, pulling together a rescue team, activating protocols set into place years ago for this exact scenario. They all knew this could happen; somewhere in their minds, the Diamond Dogs had always been aware somebody would come for their leader eventually.  _Cut off the head of the snake..._

Blinded by their admiration for him, for the legend walking among them, it all seemed so impossible. Now Big Boss is gone, wiped off their radar, disappeared without a trace. Quiet watches Miller finally, finally get to the landing zone and grits her teeth. Power shifts under her skin.

Enough time wasted.

“Pequod, get–“ Miller stops in his tracks, looks at Quiet. A beat of silence. There‘s anger coming off him in waves but no surprise. Miller expected this.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing here?”

Quiet steps closer. She fixes her Butterfly on her back, then tilts her head to the chopper.

“Forget it”, Miller scoffs, shouldering past her. Normally she would let him pass; let him growl and raise his hackles all he wants, let him feed the paranoia he keeps like a lover, second only to the Boss. Quiet doesn't hate Miller – in some ways, she respects him for being a resourceful man, for his ability to turn impossible odds to his favor. He's passionate, loves and protects what's his fiercely and without compromise.

This is not about Miller, though.

This time, Quiet stands her ground. Miller crashes against her and stumbles, catches himself on his crutch – when he rounds on her, “What the fuck is your _problem_?!”, Quiet is ready. She repeats her gesture with more force, gaze boring into Miller's, undeterred by his defenses made of tinted glass. Solid things don't concern her, not anymore.

Her only concern is Snake. Buffalo and her squad are good, very good but ultimately only human. Humans make mistakes.

Quiet does not. She will bring him back or die trying and she feels, deep down, that Miller knows this too. Staring him down, she can see the gears in his mind turning; somewhere in his thick skull, Miller’s aware he can trust her to protect Snake – he wouldn’t have tolerated her deployment at his side otherwise.

“Sir”, Pequod pipes up, pushing himself off the chopper. Quiet startles – as does Miller, if the way his hand tenses on his crutch is any indication. “With all due respect, Quiet is our best bet. I've seen her do the impossible more times than I can count and–“

The brunt of Miller's disapproval turns to the pilot and Pequod visibly wilts, swallowing once before he stands at attention, determination shining in his eyes, “a-and the Boss trusts her...”

Pequod is young, eager. He thrives under a challenge, under Snake's positive reinforcement and the easy comraderie they share. Mentioning him now is a gamble, the last straw. Quiet watches Miller's controlled facade crack, turning into a grimace. She shifts between him and Pequod, the skin around her eyes tinging black. This is not his fault.

“The Boss isn't always right! He's too trusting for his own good. This...  _thing_ holds the key to killing us all and the first thing he does is befriend it–“ Miller's voice is like ice, cold and cutting. Splintering under pressure. He rubs at his eyes under the aviators, curses under his breath. “Look, there's no time for this. They're doing who knows what to him out there–“

When he looks up, straight at Quiet, there's only grim determination, weakness forgotten. Quiet tenses.

“Go in there and bring him back. Alive. I swear if there's a  _single_ scratch on him that wasn't there before, you'll answer to me. This is your only chance... Got it?”

Quiet nods, a sharp smile tugging at her lips. One chance is all she'll need.

Miller narrows his eyes.

“Save it. You've got a mission to complete, parasite.”

*

The flight is endless.

Quiet takes apart her rifle, cleans it, puts it back together. She counts and sorts her bullets, twice; walks up to the cockpit to check their progress, meeting Pequod's worried gaze evenly. She gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze after a moment of hesitation, unused to providing comfort. It's because of the pilot that she's here at all. It's the least she can do.

Sitting down heavily in the backseat, Quiet looks at the mission updates appearing on her communicator, a simplified version of the iDroid. The soft blue glow reminds her of countless times she sat in this chopper, watching Snake operate the ACC: Leaning back, legs crossed, humming along to some song or other playing on his Walkman. The unnatural light casted shadows over his weathered face, highlighting his scars, the shrapnel in his head. A demon, he calls himself – yet the glint in his eye had always been kind.  _Too kind for this life_ , she thinks, _too kind to be Big Boss._

Quiet tries to ignore the fact that she's sitting in his spot. The radio is silent. There are no new reports.

Snake remains MIA.

Nobody says a word.

*

Five hours after the incident, Pequod maneuvers the chopper around and above the jutting cliffs surrounding the compound, lowering his Blackfoot carefully. Quiet is ready; the drop-off takes mere seconds, any doubts erased from her mind the moment her boots hit solid ground. She's already half-phased, about to bolt forward–

“Quiet! Be careful out there, okay?”

She smiles, gives him a thumbs up. Then she's gone.

The radio cracks to life when the base comes into view. Miller's gruff voice sounds in her earpiece: “Our agent was stationed near the command center, main building, second floor. Snake's entry point was through the vents on the north-eastern side; there's a stairway close-by to get there.” He sighs. “There was an alarm. We lost contact to both. If they're alive, it's most likely they're held underground. Intel's patchy at best, I'll upload what we have to your iDroid.”

Quiet confirms with a hum, glancing at the rough blueprints that appear on her display. She relocates.

“Great, thanks for the talk”, Miller grouches before the connection is ended with a definite _click_.

The facility turns out to be more expansive than their outdated information suggested. Wrong turns, dead ends – Quiet is delayed again and again as she searches for any signs of Snake, eventually doubling back to follow his progress into the base step by step. At first, Miller returns every hour, delivering updates in a frosty tone. Then it's every half hour until, by the eighth hour since Snake's disappearance, he's a constant presence in her mind, helping her along with suggestions and sometimes more, sometimes less relevant info. Like Quiet, he's calm and methodical – and like her, he's acutely aware of the time that passes, sounding more and more tense. A few questions slip inbetween, questions Quiet can't answer except with a hum she hopes relays some kind of comfort. It surprises her that despite his palpable frustration, Miller simply accepts it with a huff and a murmured “Right... Carry on”.

Every minute she doesn't find Snake is a minute added to his captivity; Snake is alive, so much is clear from the few scraps of conversation Quiet picks up along the way. She also gets the impression they knew he was coming, more a feeling than an actual fact she can confirm – it's the same intuition that finally leads her down the right path, a series of corridors cleverly hidden, remote and yet important enough to warrant the tightest security she has seen from the PMC so far.

The last thing between her and Snake.

Quiet's mind empties, strips the guards of all humanity until all that's left are targets. Miller doesn't have to tell her what to do; Quiet dispatches of them, aim never failing, one shot after another, effectively muffled by her silencer.

It's eerily quiet then, every sign of life snuffed out in her wake. She keeps her rifle at the ready, stalking past the slumped bodies and towards the door at the end of the hall. She can sense two heat signatures beyond that door, faint and hazy but still there. Two.

Hope flares up, warm and sudden. Breaking through her apathy.

“Careful”, Miller whispers, sounding as breathless as she feels. “It could be anything...“

It's not, Quiet's sure of it.

The door opens, light falls into the darkness. Quiet freezes.

“Is it Snake? Quiet, is it him?!”

Even if she could speak, Quiet wouldn't know what to say.

*

“Your coffee, sir.”

Kazuhira jolts awake in his chair, steadying himself on the edge of the table. He lifts his head blearily and nods at the recruit, accepting the mug wordlessly. The first sip proves it to be exactly how he likes it: Strong, black, no sugar. 'I ♥ DD', the mug reads. Normally the print amuses him but not today. Kazuhira checks the time.

Twelve hours.

Reaching for his headset, Kazuhira scans the variety of screens around him – his sleep-addled brain has difficulties processing the information and he gives up, rasping out “Mission status?” into his microphone.

“Welcome back, sir. ETA fifty minutes”, comes Pequod's swift reply. He, too, sounds exhausted. Kazuhira drinks his coffee, listens to the noises filtering through the connection: the hum of the engines and the occasional click of a button being pressed, Pequod's rhythmic breathing.

Kazuhira sighs. “How's he doing? Any changes?”

This time, when Pequod speaks, it's not directed at him: “Hey Q, how's it looking back there?” A beat of silence. Pequod makes a noise of acknowledgement.

“Still unresponsive. Took care of his wounds and he's awake but...” It's Pequod's turn to sigh. “I don't know.”

Worry claws at Kazuhira's gut, has been a heavy weight wrapped around his heart since that first glimpse of static. He swallows it down, hot and bitter like the drink in his hand.

“Get him back to base. Medical platform. I'll tell Beaver and his team to get ready.” He pauses. “You did a good job out there.”

“Don't thank me, Commander, thank Quiet. Without her...”

“... Yeah.” He reaches for his crutch, waves at a soldier to man the radio for him. “Miller out.”

*

Kazuhira has lost count of the times he's been in this exact place: gaze trained on the chopper in the sky coming steadily closer, wind whiping past his ears, making him shiver despite the layers of his uniform. The medic team standing at attention behind him is nothing unusual, either – this is neither the first nor the last time Snake will be injured on the field.

Yet, as the helicopter lowers itself to the landing zone, Kazuhira can't shake the feeling that this... _this_ is different.

Quiet is already there, leaning out the opened door. She phases out of sight for an instant before she returns–

Kazuhira's eyes lock on Snake, limp in her arms. Everything else fades to background noise.

Little could've prepared him for the sight that greets him, not Pequod's halting words nor the bare facts of Snake's vital signs flickering over the Intel feeds. There's no gruesome wounds, no nauseating amount of blood except for the few dried stains on Snake's sneaking suit – none of the horrors Kazuhira had painted in his mind.

His relief turns to ice in his veins when Kazuhira sees the look in Snake's eye. In those blue depths he knows so well there's... nothing. No pain, no sign of recognition, not even the slightest reaction to the way Kazuhira calls his name, soft, cautious. A blank slate.

It knocks the air out of his lungs, a suckerpunch coming from left field.

“Sir...”

Kazuhira tears himself away, wrestles his thoughts back on track. He steps aside to let Quiet through, hovering on the sidelines as she lays Snake down on the gurney standing by, infinitely gentle. The medics whisk him away without hesitation, only Beaver lingering a moment longer, saluting Kazuhira.

“We got him now, Commander. I'll send you my report as soon as I can.”

Kazuhira watches him jog off then, feeling numb for one lost moment – he squares his shoulders, shaking himself out of it to address the remaining Diamond Dogs. Pequod stands at attention while Quiet merely shifts her weight, tilting her head.

He nods at both of them. “Mission complete. Do me a favor and get some rest. I told mess hall to hold back some lunch if you're hungry.” Clearing his throat, he glances at Quiet. “For you, too. I know you don't need to eat but... just in case.”

Kazuhira ignores the obvious surprise on her face and turns on his heel. “Dismissed”, he says over his shoulder before he makes his way to the med bay.

*

Snake's hand is warm in his. Kazuhira brushes his thumb over the faint blue of his veins, carefully avoiding the IV placed there. Scars criss-cross tan skin, the familiar catch of calluses against his palm a comfort to Kazuhira's frayed nerves.

Minutes tick by, accounted for in the regular beeping of the heart monitor and the activity of the medical staff around him. Snake hasn't moved a muscle since they put him under, his pale face remaining slack – it's a precaution, Beaver explained to him in hushed whispers, a necessary measure to make sure his body has time to process the hallucinogenic components they found in his blood without further distress to his psyche.

It boils down to waiting. Again. Kazuhira tightens his grip. Diamond Dogs' emergency protocols are running smoothly, a different recruit reported a while ago. The base is in lockdown under the supervision of Ocelot – _wherever he was during the whole incident_ , Kazuhira thinks, an observation he will investigate once Snake has recovered – nothing coming in or going out in the next forty-eight hours.

It's clear there has to be a leak. How else could they have sensed Snake was coming? The route he took was virtually impossible to trace, enabling him to move through most of the compound unseen and unheard without problems. It's not like him to make mistakes like this. Then there's the nature of the attack: Snake wasn't simply tortured, he was pumped full of drugs that specifically targeted his hippocampus and other areas of the brain responsible of autobiographical information. "A method of reeducation", Ocelot had mused as he had skimmed the report with distant eyes.

Snake's biggest weakness, one only a limited pool of people know about. Kazuhira presses his lips into a flat line.

Definitely not a coincidence.

The list of problems only grows. Kazuhira knows he can't hide away in the med bay forever, that there's plenty of work to be done.

He looks at Snake.

A few more minutes.

*

A quiet knock on the door startles Kazuhira from half-sleep for the second time that day. He's disoriented for a moment, squinting his eyes against the sterile white of the room he doesn't recognize – then he remembers. The mission. The rescue.  _Snake._

Only after checking on him – _still unconscious_ – and putting on his aviators does Kazuhira allow the person in with a gruff “Come in”.

Quiet.

Kazuhira is surprised she bothered to knock, enough so that he nods for her to enter, sitting up stiffly in his uncomfortable chair. The silence that follows is uncomfortable, at least for him. Kazuhira studies her careful approach to Snake's bedside, noting the way worry softens her intense expression to something more vulnerable. It prompts him to speak, his voice low, pensive:

“Nothing's changed much. They took V off the sedatives an hour ago. Gotta wait for him to wake up on his own, now.”

Quiet reaches out to brush away a stray strand of hair off Snake's face, hesitating as the man twitches in his sleep, forehead creasing.

Kazuhira smiles, just a little. “Don't worry, he's been doing that a while now. Probably has a hell of a headache, not that he's aware of it yet.” The smile disappears, replaced by a slight frown.

A hum is Quiet's answer to this.

Of course.

They watch Snake sleep, both lost in their own thoughts. It feels like no time at all has passed when Quiet steps back, glancing at Kazuhira like she can't quite figure him out.

Kazuhira remembers there's still one thing he owes her.

“Thank you”, he says, holding her gaze. There's no point in beating around the bush.

Quiet cocks an eyebrow. She waits.

“I won't pretend to know what's going on in your head, hell, sometimes I think I don't even  _want_ to know but... you were right. You kept your word. Maybe V wasn't so wrong about you after all.”

Her expression doesn't change, only the hint of a smile touching her lips. Quiet crosses her arms. She's challenging him. Kazuhira huffs, “Don't push it.”

Quiet smirks. She's turns to leave with one last glance on Snake's prone form–

“Stay, if you want.” Kazuhira takes his crutch, getting on his feet with a weary groan. He gestures to his seat, a casual offer. “I need a break anyway.” Leaning down, he presses a gentle kiss to Snake's tense brow and murmurs, just in case his partner can hear him, “Be right back.” Snake relaxes under his lips, mumbling something unintelligable into his pillow.

Kazuhira allows himself one more moment of closeness –  _He's going to be alright,_ he assures himself – then he takes his leave, limping past Quiet on his way out.

The door closes behind him without a sound.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was originally published as "Blank Slate" in the MGS F/anthology ["Our Beloved Monsters (OBM)](http://14180.work/post/162083102352/buy-the-book-buy-the-pdf-our-beloved-monsters-is>)! Please consider buying a copy, all proceeds go to Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF).
> 
> In other news, my semester is closing so I'll hopefully have time to write again. There's a few ideas I'd like to work with so maybe I'll have something new for y'all soon c:


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